Chance
by rukushaka
Summary: Obi-Wan goes to talk to the Council; he might have a chance after all. Support from Qui-Gon, time travel, vignette.


**I don't own Star Wars. It would be cool if I did, but I don't. To the best of my knowledge, George Lucas (and/or Disney) does, so if you're curious about buying the franchise (because obviously this is where you'd come to do so) you'd be better off contacting him. Or them. Whatever.**

**Just a short vignette. I may possibly come back to it at some stage and expand it, but don't hold your breath on that one - life gets busy, as we all know. Hope you enjoy.**

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He stood straight backed and square-shouldered, feet firmly planted on the warm floor of the High Council chamber. His eyes felt gritty; red rims were the only outward sign of his permanent exhaustion. Ever-present despair thrummed deep in his veins, an unwelcome companion for the last - how many lifetimes had it been? Too many. He could not bring himself to hope that this time all would be well.

Less than half the Council was sitting today - Yoda, Mace, Depa, Saesee, Tyvokka, that was all.

No Dooku.

Good.

The presence of his master was a gentle warmth at his side - not half a step in front, as was customary, but parallel, accepting this strange twist in their master-padawan relationship without a blink. Not every master would have accepted being thrust onto equal terms with their nineteen year old apprentice; even fewer would have leapt into action the moment he'd woken, screams suppressed by long habit but unable to stop the upheaval of his stomach onto the floor, and demanded to see the High Council _now, Master, please!_

_Force, _but he had missed Qui-Gon.

"This has happened before, you say?" Yoda asked, peering intently at him.

"Yes, Master." He had learned by now to let the upsurge of memories wash over him, around him, to neither inhibit them nor let them drag him along in their wake, "This will be the eighth time."

"And tell us before this, you have not?"

"Would you know it if I had?" he returned calmly. "Or would I know it? To my knowledge I haven't told you in any of the previous timelines - "

Qui-Gon was far too tactful to make any outward sign of his reaction; instead, Obi-Wan received the equivalent of an amused glance over their mental bond, because _how many times have I told you, padawan, time is not a line._

"And if I've told you before now in this line, I don't remember it."

"Mm. Always in motion, the future is."

The time-honoured words were overlaid by a synchronised mental echo from both ends of the master-padawan bond, and - if the way Mace and Saesee were carefully avoiding eye contact was any indication - by at least two other members of the Council.

A small _hrrmph _from Yoda.

"You have seen the destruction of the Jedi?" Mace put in, voice deep, the man himself nigh unshakeable.

Obi-Wan fought back a shiver and felt Qui-Gon move minutely closer, close enough that their arms brushed. "Seen it. Felt it. Lived it. Yes."

The invasion of Naboo. Qui-Gon dying. Training Anakin. Anakin's involvement with Padme - sometimes trusting Obi-Wan enough to tell him, sometimes not. The war. Mission after mission after mission, every one going slightly differently to how he remembered, every one taking an unthinkable toll on mind and body and spirit.

And always, always: Anakin falling to darkness. The rise of the Sith. The desecration of the Temple. The slaughter of the Jedi.

Failure.

"Obi-Wan?"

There was a comforting weight on his shoulder, but even as he recognised the familiar hand and voice of a concerned Qui-Gon he was twisting away, battle-honed reflexes too raw to allow this blatant invasion of space without warning.

"Don't." The words were strangled, choked, a temporary reversion of his mentality to that of the nineteen year old in whose body he was trapped, "Don't, Master, please."

"Alright. It's alright." Hands raised placatingly, a whisper of a touch along their bond, _calm, peace, safety_.

"Don't make this harder than it already is." The weight of being back here - seeing all his old friends again, seeing them so ignorant of what lay in store, suffering the constant flashbacks of the ruined Temple, the bodies, the death of everyone he ever had or ever would love - was crushing. But he'd never tried it this way before, and if he could save even one life it would be worth it.

"What do you mean?" This came from Depa.

"You die," the words were wrenched from his throat, eyes fixed unwaveringly on Qui-Gon, "You die - every time, you die, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. Believe me, I've tried. Every time you die, and you leave me to train him, and every time I fail you, I fail him, he turns, and the world _burns_."

And every time the scars were carved deeper into his heart, the price of _caring _reinforced with agonising heartache. Deep attachment was followed by searing pain, howling grief, an open wound that gaped and throbbed and bled until it scabbed over, only to open again on his reversion to nineteen.

It would be worth it this time. If they agreed to his plan, he might have a chance - just the slightest chance, he did not dare hope for more - to save them from annihilation.

A soft exhalation of breath from Qui-Gon. Brows lowered over midnight blue eyes. Hands lifting again, every movement telegraphed clearly seconds before it happened. Obi-Wan remained rigid, breath held as he allowed those hands (_warm, strong, unwavering_) to settle on his shoulders, solid against the faint tremors in his overloaded system.

There was a soft growl from Tyvokka, and a nod of agreement from Mace, "We will help you, Obi-Wan. What do you need?"


End file.
